


Lighthearted

by nightbirdrises



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fairy Tale Elements, Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4495854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbirdrises/pseuds/nightbirdrises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Kurt Hummel, a young fae with few prospects, finds a canary with a broken wing and a name near his home, the last thing he expects is to go on a dangerous journey to a place that may or may not truly exist, a place of stories told to children to teach them the perils of magic and greed. And yet he does, too curious and hopeful of finding his place in the world to ignore the request made by a frightening, though oddly endearing, sun-starved stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1: Before the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> At long last, I've finished my piece for this year's Reversebang! Many, many thanks to the wonderful artist, [tarabottiwrites](http://tarabottiwrites.tumblr.com), for being so patient and cheering me on through the process. Thanks are also in order for [daltoneering](http://daltoneering.tumblr.com) for beta-ing and for the organizers of the reversebang, who I hope didn't get too worried when, a whole month past my original deadline, I still wasn't finished.
> 
> [The amazing art that inspired this (as well as a link to yet another story written for it) can be found here](http://tarabottiwrites.tumblr.com/post/124953699714/posting-my-artwork-for-the-kurtblaine-reverse).
> 
>  
> 
> Please note that there are instances of danger and injury, although relatively brief and non-graphic, involved in this story. If broken bones and cuts and the like bother you, be cautious - particularly in Part 2D.

It’s impossible to talk to birds, even for all that fae are attuned to nature’s languages. That is, unless one happens to be born with the skill for it. Kurt was not granted that ability. And yet, here he is, pleading with a distressed and broken-winged canary that’s just about his size in length (though larger in girth).

“I can’t help you out here,” he says, standing a few inches away as the bird watches him steadily through one unblinking eye. “We’ll both get caught. Please, follow me.”

He might as well be talking to a blade of grass for all that seems to be going understood between them. At least the canary has stopped flapping about, finally resigned to its grounded state. But Kurt’s all too aware of the fact that a downed bird is easy prey for the more dangerous creatures of the forest he calls home; leaving the bird would mean sentencing it to death. He _should_ leave, get home before his dad starts to worry, and before nightfall coaxes the hunters - snakes, bats, and worse - from their daytime resting places.

Looking around, Kurt spots a crevice between the protruding roots of a large tree and leaps into flight, hovering around it as he inspects the area for unfriendly occupants. He finds it clear of danger and returns to the canary.

“If you won’t come with me, at least take shelter there,” he says, indicating the corner with large, exaggerated movements. The bird cocks its head to one side. “I’ll stay with you. We’ll be safe.” Kurt hesitates, then adds, “I promise.”

He’s not sure if he’s being fully understood, but the bird at least seems to catch on to the general idea of his suggestion and hops to the crevice, wedging itself in. Kurt places broad leaves and branches on top of the roots as a makeshift roof and sits cross-legged just outside on the soil, wincing at the realization that his pants are unlikely to get out of this ordeal unscathed. As night falls, he retreats farther into the shelter, closer to the bird. He gets close enough - and the bird becomes still enough - to notice a small metal band on its leg with human-language engraved in it:

_Pavarotti_

Kurt frowns; he knows how to speak and read human-language seeing as the majority of fae in the region learn it as their first language due to their close proximity to humans and their signs and conversations. The old language of runes is preserved by elders for posterity, but it serves little use otherwise. It’s better to be completely aware of their most dangerous neighbors.

However, writing is rare, which means that the band is most likely human-made. While the humans are close enough for fae with the talent to fly at high speeds, though, it’s a long journey to make for a canary with a broken wing. So perhaps the band was forged and engraved by fae with those talents, despite Kurt having no knowledge of metalworkers in the forest aside from his own father.

Shaking his head, Kurt makes a mental shift away from the mystery. Regardless of where Pavarotti came from, he needs attention if his broken wing is to heal properly. After that, the bird can go on his merry way if he wishes. Kurt silently hopes that that won’t be the case, at least not immediately. For all the demand there is for Dad’s metal trinkets and tools, it’s in less than short supply for Kurt himself, and even a temporary companion would be a nice change of pace.

Pavarotti ruffles some feathers in his sleep and the movement startles Kurt, who continues to stare into near darkness, listening intently, his heart racing from that spike of fear.

Humans don’t have this problem, he muses. They’re too large and industrious to be frightened of predators. Kurt cringes at the memory of the gunshots he’d heard once, so close to home that he’d ventured off to investigate despite his father’s protests. He’d found a bear lying motionless on the forest floor, one of the strongest creatures Kurt knows taken down by a few bits of metal.

Strange that they can seemingly do the impossible, yet they never recognize Kurt’s kind for what they are - instead they are butterflies, or the fastest of them are hummingbirds, or they’re all nothing but the products of an overactive imagination. Supposedly they don’t believe in the magic that lives in the forest, either. For all their cleverness, humans really must be closed-minded.

But at least they face little danger from predators, while Kurt and Pavarotti face far too much. What, then, do humans worry about? They are unlimited. Kurt is prey.

Despite these morbid thoughts, Kurt finds himself drifting off, his thoughts merely occupying his mind as sleep takes over, as quick and silent as night itself. That is, until a minute noise jerks him back to alertness, the sound picked up by his vibration-sensitive antennae more so than his ears. The cause of the noise, once he sees it, makes him stiffen: a spider, much smaller than him but with deadly potential in its fangs.

Kurt stares at the spider, refusing to move or let it out of his sight, but it appears to be busy building a web amongst the lowest levels of foliage. Unlike the bigger, faster hunting spiders, weavers prefer to lie in wait for their prey, providing Kurt with a measure of safety so long as he is aware of the web. Fae are generally large enough to tear through spider silk, but if they’re caught by surprise, the shock of it can give the spider just enough time to administer a paralyzing bite.

After watching the spider for some time, Kurt decides he has relatively nothing to fear and allows himself to fall asleep once again. Hours pass before he wakes naturally, although the sun has yet to rise. Content to stay awake until it’s light enough to make an attempt at getting Pavarotti to his home, Kurt pulls his knees up to his chest and looks at the finished web, now sparkling with dew.

Sparkling?

Kurt frowns. Light is needed for the dew to reflect it. As the realization reaches him, the light moves and the web shakes, a few droplets losing their hold on the silk to crash to the ground. Kurt scrambles to his feet, accidentally nudging Pavarotti awake. Pavarotti’s good wing flaps in surprise and the leaves above them are gusted away, leaving them completely visible to whatever light-bearing creature is coming their way.

A hand appears to sweep branches out of its owner’s path and Kurt’s first thought is that it’s a human; why would a human be coming after him if they don’t believe in him? But reason comes to his aid: human hands are much larger and tend to be higher off the ground. The only explanation, then, is that it belongs to a fae.

Sure enough, a fae comes out of the brush, but not one like Kurt has ever seen. This navy-winged fae, who Kurt assumes is male, has sickly pale skin and an air of darkness that surpasses the natural night around them. In his other hand is a plant that Kurt has never seen before, but it’s the clear source of the light that he’d noticed. It’s a bright shade of pastel pink, leaves, berries, and all, but the glow it emits is golden. A neat purple bow has been tied around the stem.

“It’s a peace offering.” Kurt startles at the voice; he’d been so focused on the plant that he’d forgotten about the fae holding it. He takes a step back and places calming hands on Pavarotti, who seems almost _angry_ at the fae in front of them.

“A peace offering?” Kurt asks warily.

“It’s from home. My home. I guess they don’t grow anywhere else, maybe I shouldn’t have…”

“Who are you?” Kurt interrupts.

“Oh, right.” The fae smiles, a charming grin that doesn’t match his vaguely frightening appearance in the slightest. He takes a small bow, says, “Blaine Anderson, at your service.”

“Okay. Is there any particular reason why you’re traipsing around at night like a mouse with a death wish?”

“I’ve been looking for him,” Blaine says, nodding to Pavarotti. “I travel at night because the sun… well, it kind of hurts,” he says sheepishly. “I’m not used to it.”

Kurt narrows his eyes. “What, are you nocturnal?”

“Something like that. Um, I see you’ve met Pavarotti,” Blaine says quickly, changing the subject.

“He’s hurt,” Kurt says. Pavarotti chirps, restless. “He also doesn’t seem to like you very much. Care to explain?” It occurs to him that he’s asking an impressive number of questions, but it’s all very well seeing as he needs answers regarding this stranger and his intentions.

“It’s a long story.” Blaine glances around; the spider from earlier is nowhere to be seen. “Is your home nearby? Maybe I can explain it along the way.”

“You think I’m going to let you come home with me?” Kurt asks, his eyebrows raised. “Absolutely not. You’ve given me no reason to trust you, just reasons _not_ to trust you.”

“I know it looks bad,” Blaine says with a slight grimace, “but I’m harmless, and I’ll explain as much as I can. I mean, it’s up to you whether or not to believe me. According to stories you’ve probably heard as a child, I shouldn’t exist,” he adds, shrugging.

“If you’re trying to make me curious enough to listen, it’s not working,” Kurt says, crossing his arms. It’s a lie, of course; he can’t help but be as intrigued as he is wary, especially when Blaine seems less dangerous with each passing minute. Pavarotti’s feathers are still puffed out, though - an unmistakable sign of anger - and Kurt knows the value of trusting an animal’s instincts.

“I won’t hurt you,” Blaine insists, holding the strange glowing plant out again. “I promise.”

Kurt eyes the offering, which isn’t as comforting as Blaine seems to think it is. It looks like magic, the kind that the stories warn against trying to bring under your control. The magic that’s naturally part of the forest can be persuaded to do what a fae wants  if they have the talent for such a thing, but never controlled except by mages - but a mage hasn’t been born in many generations, to the general population’s great relief. Controlling magic means controlling nature itself, which is dangerous and unthinkable, a path to certain disaster.

Blaine comes from a place where magic, if it really is that, grows in plain sight. All the signs point towards him being untrustworthy. All except his very demeanor, his smile, the way the glow keeps wobbling due to his hand shaking, as if he’s nervous about Kurt’s answer. Kurt doesn’t think he’s ever made anyone nervous before.

“Keep your plant,” Kurt says, making a decision. “You can come with us as long as you’re willing to travel by day, because I’m not interested in getting eaten. We’ll talk when we get there. Deal?”

Blaine positively beams. “Deal.”

The smile doesn’t stick for long, however, as Kurt carefully prods a much more agreeable Pavarotti towards home with Blaine in sight, squinting and frowning on Kurt’s left side.

“There’s so much sun,” he mutters. “I thought there’d be more trees and shade.”

“Welcome to the land of the living.”

“Wait, do you think I’m a vampire?”

“A what?” The word rings a bell in Kurt’s mind - and not a good one, more like a warning bell - but he can’t place the meaning.

“Vampire. Like in some human stories, they’re human-looking creatures that creep around at night and suck the blood of other humans.”

“Ugh,” Kurt says, remembering with a shiver. He hates those stories. “Come to think of it, you seem to fit the mold. You’re even pale like those stories say.”

“Hey, so are you.”

Kurt tips his chin up. “Yes, but at least my skin is healthy and well-moisturized, thank you very much. If you got some sun once in a while, maybe you’d look less like a terrifying blood sucker.”

Blaine sighs and looks down at himself. “I guess the outfit doesn’t help, either. I was trying to blend in at night, but I guess now it just looks like…”

“Vampire. A rich one,” Kurt adds, noting the well-fitted tailcoat. If Blaine didn’t look like he could morph into a bat any second, he’d look rather regal.

“Yeah, well,” Blaine says, not taking the bait to explain his clothing. Kurt dresses well enough for what the market by the stream has to offer (and what he can piece together himself - if only fashion was a recognized and marketable talent in the middle of the forest), but he has never seen anything like Blaine’s getup except in some history books that are stacked with the rest of the public-access human reading materials in some of the bigger trees in the area.

“Almost there. Tell me if you’re about to burst into flames or sparkle or something.”

Blaine genuinely laughs - like his smile, the warmth of it contradicts his appearance. “Will do. Just so you know, I can’t look directly at you right now.”

“Why not?”

“Your wings, they’re…”

“Yes?”

“…Uh, iridescent. A nice gold color,” Blaine finishes rather lamely. “Feather?”

Kurt nods. “Runs in the family.” Pavarotti lets out a few chattering tweets. “Runs in your family, as well, funnily enough,” Kurt tells him, choosing to believe that the bird understands him even if he really doesn’t. Blaine’s smile is worth the mild self-delusion, at least.

As they near the hollowed-out tree stump that Kurt calls home, he starts to worry about how his dad will take the new visitors, Blaine in particular. Part of him hopes that Burt will refuse to let him stay, but another part wants to learn more about him and see if he really is worth trusting.

Blaine must be thinking along similar lines as he asks, “Do you live with any family?”

“Just my dad,” Kurt says. “It’s up to him who stays at our place, so you’re going to want to make a good impression if you plan on sticking around.”

“Oh.” Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt sees Blaine surreptitiously drop the glowing plant on the ground and just barely keeps from snorting out a laugh. “You wouldn’t happen to have any tips, would you?”

“Don’t make him think you’re a threat. I’m still not convinced you’re not one, so I’m trusting his judgment.”

“Right.” Blaine straightens up and sets his jaw, apparently steeling himself. Kurt shakes his head and points to the various metal bits that they’ve started to pass by.

“Be careful or you’ll trip on something.” As soon as he says it, Blaine briefly gets his foot stuck in a flat metal ring, stumbling slightly. Kurt holds in the laughter that threatens to escape him even as Blaine regains his composure.

“Where did all these come from?” Blaine asks in wonder, staring at a bent nail once he has recovered. “Aren’t they human objects?”

Kurt nods. “My dad’s the only metalworker around, and people like having metal tools and stuff. A long time ago my mom, who could communicate with birds, saved a blackbird from some plastic rings that humans use to hold beverages. Ever since, that blackbird has delivered anything made of metal it finds to us out of gratitude. It’s been good for business.”

“I can imagine,” Blaine says. “Does that mean you can do those things too? Talk to birds and make tools?”

“I help my dad sometimes, but I don’t have the talent to do it on my own,” Kurt says quietly. “I can’t talk to birds, either. Mom did it by singing, and I can do that, I just can’t use it for communication with them.” Blaine opens his mouth, presumably to continue questioning him, but he’s interrupted by a gruff voice shouting Kurt’s name.

“Kurt! Was about to go looking for you, you’re s’posed to tell me before you go off for—“ Burt stops a short distance away, finally noticing Blaine and Pavarotti. Kurt rushes to hug him, breathing in the safety of his father’s arms even as Burt says, “What’s all this about?”

“The canary’s name is Pavarotti,” Kurt says, pulling back. “He has a broken wing.”

“And the kid?”

“Blaine Anderson. Someone from far away who was apparently following Pavarotti for some reason. I let him come home with us so he could have a chance to explain to me why he’s here, but if you think he shouldn’t—“

“Kurt, why don’t you go deal with your bird, I got an old roll of bandages out back that you could probably use to wrap that wing up,” Burt says, still watching Blaine, who remains steady, if a bit wide-eyed. “The kid and I’ll have a talk.”

“But…” Kurt starts, but he trails off as Pavarotti hops towards him, deciding that of the three fae in the vicinity, Kurt’s his best bet for safety. With a sigh, Kurt leads the canary around the stump and searches for the roll, which he finds propped up against the house. He can hear his dad and Blaine talking, but can’t make out the words. Pavarotti tilts his head around, looking at Kurt, the bandages, the stump, the sky beyond the treetops above. Kurt unrolls a length of the bandage and steps towards Pavarotti, saying, “Okay, I’m gonna need you to stay still for a second.”

Thankfully, Pavarotti seems willing to stand in place, although he writhes a bit as Kurt’s wrapping the bandage around the wing to support the bones and allow them to heal in the proper position. When he lets go of the wing, Pavarotti hops off a short distance, flapping his good wing as he comes to the realization that his broken wing is now taped in place. He glares accusingly at Kurt, who puts his hands up defensively.

“I’m sorry, but this is the best way to make sure it heals,” he tells him. “If you stay here, we can keep you safe until it does. Okay?”

No response. Pavarotti begins preening and Kurt watches until he feels a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he finds Blaine standing behind him and jumps. “Oh, sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you,” Blaine says.

“It’s fine. What’s the verdict?”

“I can stay.”

“You… you can?” Kurt asks, bewildered. “How?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Blaine says, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s still squinting through the sunlight. “I think he just thinks I’m too intimidated by him to be a threat.”

“Is that true?”

“I’m very intimidated, yes.”

“Good.” Kurt sits cross-legged in the grass and indicates the space in front of him. He feels dirty and unkempt after the long night sitting on soil, but for once his desire to look clean is eclipsed by something else. “Let’s talk.”

Blaine sits down in a patch of shade, visibly relieved to be out of the sun. “Okay, what do you want to know first?”

“Why were you looking for Pavarotti?” Kurt asks after a moment of deciding where to begin.

“He was going to be a gift, sort of, for me, but he ran away. No one else seemed concerned, so I followed. I guess he must have broken his wing in the struggle to escape.”

Kurt narrows his eyes. “Why would a bird be a gift for anyone? He’s a living thing.”

“Um, it’s a tradition, where I’m from, to give gifts to certain people at a certain age, and I’m known to enjoy birdsong, so…”

“So they captured a bird and gave him to you.”

“Well, they didn’t get around to the giving, he got away first.”

Kurt takes a deep breath. “I suppose this leads into my next question. Where do you come from that such a thing can happen?”

“I came here from the West Kingdom,” Blaine says slowly. It takes Kurt a long few seconds to register what he has just said - the name of a kingdom from a popular children’s tale. A story of fiction.

“You’re messing with me.”

“I assure you, I’m not.”

“Please, Blaine. You’re telling me that your home is a kingdom of mages and eternal darkness from a story that parents tell their kids to warn them against being greedy. The forest can be dark sometimes, but it’s impossible to block out the sun entirely, never mind in only one oak tree grove.”

“Well, it’s true.” 

Kurt scoffs. “Does that mean you’re a mage, as well?”

Blaine shifts uncomfortably. “I should be, seeing as the rest of my family have been mages for as far back as anyone can remember. So far, though, it seems like I may be the first to have no magic power.”

“Somehow none of this is making me trust you any more,” Kurt says. He has a strong urge to leap to his feet and enlist his father’s help to drive Blaine away; all the old stories say that mages are trouble, and if Blaine really is one - even if he really is powerless like he says - then it’s in their best interests to get him out of their lives as soon as possible.

Kurt’s certain that if he told Blaine to leave, he would. That very fact is what makes him hesitate.

“Look, I completely understand if you don’t believe me, but I swear I’m telling the truth. I’m sorry, but you have to trust me in that, at least.”

“Even if I did believe you, I wouldn’t just hand Pavarotti over,” Kurt tells him, putting a bite in his voice. “He’s not meant to be a _pet_ , we’re not _humans_. We should be better than that.”

“I didn’t intend to make him a pet, I wanted to see if he would be a companion. You know, a friend.”

“Don’t you have friends?” Kurt ignores the regret that bubbles up when Blaine’s shoulders tense.

“Not exactly. I’m the youngest fae of the West Kingdom, and only a few families are left after so many generations of living in darkness, anyway.” Kurt makes a noncommittal sound, acknowledging Blaine while trying not to give away the fact that he doesn’t really have friends, either. Sure, there are those who are kind to him, but not enough to make him want to wander to more populated areas on a regular basis. It bothers him that he feels sympathy for Blaine in this respect. A silence passes between them, then, “I have an idea, but I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“Probably not, but what is it?”

“Come with me.”

“Excuse me?” Kurt says, positive that he just heard Blaine wrong.

“Come to the West Kingdom with me. Seeing is believing, right? And then maybe you’ll trust me not to harm or mistreat Pavarotti.”

Kurt shakes his head, as much at himself for wanting to agree as at Blaine for even suggesting it. “It sounds like if I go with you, I’ll never come back.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Blaine gets to his knees, smiling a little. “You’d get to see something of legend, at least to you. I would get to spend time with someone from outside the kingdom for once in my life, and maybe learn something from it.”

“Right, and how long after you learn about me is it that you literally stab me in the back?”

“I promised you before that I wouldn’t hurt you. That still applies.”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, well, I’ll make plans to leave tomorrow morning before the sun rises,” Blaine says, getting up and brushing himself off. “I can’t be gone from home for too long. Is there somewhere I can sleep?”

“Wait, that’s it?” Kurt asks, standing up quickly. Blaine furrows his brows, confused.

“I really doubt I’ll get you or Pavarotti to trust me in just a day.” He sighs, putting a smile back on. “I understand. I can trust that you’ll make sure his wing heals, so I suppose, in a way, I did accomplish something by making sure he’s safe.”

“You trust me?”

“As much as I can trust a stranger, maybe even a little more than that.” Shrugging, Blaine adds, “It’s just something about you.”

“What if I change my mind?” The words are out before Kurt can stop them, and the possibility hangs heavy in the air. Blaine brightens up considerably, although he still seems reserved.

“If you do, let me know and we’ll leave together. But…” Blaine bites his lip. “I don’t want you to do this because of me.”

“Of course not. If I go, it’s for Pavarotti,” Kurt says firmly. Blaine nods, accepting his statement, then walks off, saying something about finding Burt to ask for a place to sleep. Kurt’s not sure what he says exactly, though, because he’s distracted by the idea of going to the West Kingdom. Which might not exist. Which, if it does exist, is full of mages, the very type of fae that he should avoid. If the journey itself doesn’t kill him - the forest is as merciless as it is beautiful - then the destination might. Even Blaine might, if he’s merely been acting all this time.

Kurt stretches his wings and flits to the rooftop, his favorite place to be alone, and traces the rings of the tree that once proudly stood where he and his dad now live. According to his dad, the tree is where he and Elizabeth first met; it was later felled by a human lumberjack. A family friend whispered the remaining stump into a sizable home at Burt’s request, and they’ve lived here ever since. Kurt has always enjoyed looking at the rings since his mom explained to him that they could tell a story of the tree’s life.

Dry seasons near the beginning of the tree’s life kept it small at first, where the rings are close together. Rainy seasons later came and the tree flourished, as indicated by wider spaces between rings.

Two forest fires have left gaping scars in the rings, but the tree lived and continued to grow. Kurt had asked how a tree could survive like that, and his mom had replied, “By standing tall.”

He has the opportunity to venture into the unknown, the stuff of human and fae stories alike. In the stories, the protagonist often gains more than they lose. Losing on occasion is key to growing. Right?

If Kurt gets burned, can he stand tall enough to continue onward? Is the risk worth the chance to get something more out of his life than helping his dad in the forge and sewing fabrics together to make better-looking fabrics? It’s impossible to know; the possibilities, good and bad, are numerous.

Hours pass as Kurt lies on his back and tracks the sun through the trees, watching it move slowly towards the fabled West Kingdom. A younger Kurt Hummel once imagined meeting the handsome prince of the tale of the West Kingdom before he became a king corrupted by his own power; maybe if the story had been a love story instead, Kurt had thought, the kingdom wouldn’t have fallen.

If given the opportunity to visit a kingdom far away, his younger self would have leapt at the chance to experience it. Now that he’s older and it’s actually happening - that is, if the kingdom is real - he’s hesitating because of the potential danger that lies ahead.

He could risk injury or worse, or he could stay home for the rest of his life, experiencing nothing more than he already has.

“Blaine,” Kurt whispers into the room where Blaine is fast asleep. “Hey. It’s me.”

“Hm?” Blaine mumbles, waking slowly. He sits up, his hair bed-mussed. “Oh, hey. What’s going on?”

“We’re leaving at first light.”

He ignores the way his heartbeat skips at Blaine’s bright, pleased smile.


	2. Part 2A: The Beginning

The first day of traveling consists mainly of Kurt and Pavarotti following Blaine in relative silence. Kurt keeps his hand on Pavarotti, who seems to have taken a liking to him, as much as possible. It had been surprisingly easy to get the bird to go with them; he simply follows Kurt wherever he goes. They’re limited to walking while Pavarotti’s wing heals, but flight is far more exhausting, in any case, so Kurt welcomes the easy stroll through the woods.

Despite Blaine’s suggestion to travel without one, Kurt brought along a messenger bag. Inside are more bandages, seeds for food, and a change of clothes so he doesn’t have to wear the same thing _every_ day, at least. He’s as prepared as he can be for the obvious problems, but it’s the mysterious ones that he knows might catch him off-guard.

Like Blaine, who checks behind him periodically to make sure they’re still there but otherwise doesn’t say much. Kurt imagines it’s out of some kind of courtesy - Blaine seems like the sort to be courteous - but really, he wishes they would have some kind of conversation to ease the monotony of their journey thus far.

On the second day, Kurt decides to take the initiative.

“So, magic,” he says, drawing up to walk alongside Blaine. Pavarotti hangs back slightly, pecking at the ground every few hops. “What’s it like?”

Blaine glances at him, thoughtful. “I don’t know, how do you explain something you’ve been surrounded by your whole life?” Kurt takes this as an end to their exchange and looks ahead. But Blaine continues, “What do you think it is?”

“Aside from dangerous? I guess I imagine casting spells and harnessing power somehow, only for it to backfire and, oh, I don’t know, cause the sun to disappear.”

“Okay, well, it’s not exactly like that,” Blaine says, ignoring the reference. “It’s more like… tapping into something deep inside you. For some people it’s the heart, for others it’s the brain, for others it’s something unidentifiable, maybe the soul. We practice a lot of meditation to learn how to relax completely enough to use the power we’ve been given safely.”

Kurt nods. “I suppose it takes a lot of self-control.”

“Yeah. It depends on the power, too.”

“Oh, isn’t it just… magic?”

“Magic that can do anything you want it to? No, most mages have a specific ability, sometimes two. My mom can move objects; her power is based in her mind, so it’s like what humans call telekinesis, if you’ve heard of that.”

“Huh. Isn’t it supposed to be based in the power that exists in nature?”

Blaine tilts his head, contemplating his answer. “It is, but in that we are a part of nature ourselves, if that makes sense. Which is why it’s strange to me that the fae of your region aren’t all mages, too.”

“We have talents,” Kurt offers, but Blaine frowns slightly.

“Talents… like skills?”

“Sort of. My dad’s talent is metalwork and my mom could sing to birds in such a way that she could communicate with them. Most talents are said to have traces of magic in them, but they’re limited by our own strength and willingness to develop them.”

“What’s your talent?” Blaine asks. Kurt takes a breath, steeling himself.

“Nothing. I haven’t found mine and I’ve just reached my twenty-second year, so there’s a chance I may be talentless.”

“What? No way, you must be talented at something, can’t your dad teach you how to do what he does?”

“He’s already taught me all he can,” Kurt tells him. “Without true talent, though, I couldn’t do it on my own.”

“There must be something,” Blaine repeats. Kurt looks at him out of the corner of his eye, confused that Blaine would even care whether or not he has a talent. He didn’t even know they existed until moments ago. “Have you tried them all?”

“As many as I can think of,” Kurt says with a careless shrug that does nothing to mask his frustration. “For one, I’m no speed flyer.” Realizing that Blaine wouldn’t know what the talents even entail, he adds, “Their wings are incredibly strong; they can fly much farther and much faster than most, so they take on the task of flying to human homes to collect nectar from their rosebushes and gardens.”

“Don’t they get caught?” Blaine asks. _So his kind are wary of humans too_ , Kurt thinks.

“It is dangerous, but they fly so quickly, the humans often think they’re hummingbirds.” Blaine makes a soft _oh_ sound and Kurt moves on. “I’ve tried plant whispering, but that’s not it either. Encouraging plants to grow or manipulate themselves a certain way by speaking to them,” Kurt explains when Blaine makes another sound, this one questioning. “That’s as close to magic as you’ll find with us.”

“That’s fascinating.”

“It’s…” Kurt trails off, avoiding eye contact. “I bet it’s nice to feel like you have a purpose. I’m not the only talentless one of us, but it’s uncommon enough that others are, well…”

“They’re not kind about it, are they?”

“No.”

Blaine lets out a humorless laugh. “Turns out we have something in common, then.” Kurt allows a halfhearted smile to break through; he’s not wrong, after all.

“I suppose nature decided we could go without its help for whatever reason.”

“Mm. I’d say we’re doing just fine, all things considered.”

Kurt chances a look at Blaine, but he doesn’t look back. Instead he’s surveying the forest around them, smiling softly, his face illuminated by the sunlight that shines through the trees. He looks more _real_ , not a creature of the night but a young fae like himself. If he looks closely, Kurt thinks Blaine’s complexion is less pale as he embraces the light he’d been starved of for so long.

“It feels nice,” Blaine murmurs. “It still stings a little, but it’s warm.”

Kurt looks away under the pretense of making sure that Pavarotti is still trailing behind them, hiding a smile of his own even as he swears under his breath. If he keeps on reacting this way, Blaine might start to think that he’s winning his trust. Or worse, that Kurt _likes_ him. On the contrary, Kurt feels about Blaine the way he might feel about a ticking time bomb. For now, it seems as though he and Pavarotti are safe. There’s no guarantee for the future.

“How is he?” The question jerks Kurt’s gaze back to Blaine, who tips his head towards Pavarotti. “Is he still following us?”

“He’s following _me_ ,” Kurt says, correcting him. “And I think he’s fine. Birds aren’t much for complaining.”

“How long do you think it’ll take for his wing to heal?”

Alarm bells ring in Kurt’s head. “Why do you ask?”

Blaine closes his eyes, turns and looks ahead. “If it heals in time, maybe he could fly us the rest of the way.”

“He’s only big enough to carry one of us at a time,” Kurt says slowly. “And that’s a maybe. If you haven’t noticed, he’s not exactly a hawk.”

“Birds aren’t like us, they’re strong fliers.” Blaine flutters his wings, as if to prove a point. It’s a true point, but Kurt stops walking and crosses his arms nonetheless, causing Blaine to stop just a few steps ahead.

“Well, go ahead and ask Pavarotti how many fae he could possibly get off of the ground. In the meantime, feel free to tell him all about your plan to abandon me in the forest as soon as he’s healed.”

“That’s not… I thought you agreed to this because you were willing to trust me a little.”

“I never said that,” Kurt says. “I agreed because I’d like to see if all of the things you claim, the kingdom and Pavarotti and mages, are actually true. In other words, it’s because I _don’t_ trust you.”

Blaine stares at him for a few seconds, then, “We’re never going to get anywhere if you think I’m going to do that the whole time.”

“Prove to me that you won’t.” Huffing a breath, Blaine shakes his head and walks ahead.

“I’m starting to think that that’s impossible.”

“Then you’ll have to deal with my skepticism,” Kurt calls after him, but it’s uncertain whether or not he hears the words.

Silence reigns for the rest of the day, Kurt falling back to walk closer to Pavarotti as Blaine leads. His brief flare of anger soon dissipates into something like regret as they press onward, and Kurt wonders if Blaine’s right in thinking that they’ll never make it if all of their conversations end this way. It at least makes this adventure more like a chore than something out of stories.

If he could have a story to tell at the end of all this, it would be life-changing. The tale of a young, untalented fae traveling to a fantastical region with a mage and a songbird could become legend, and then he’d have something to leave behind besides countless efforts to find his place in the world. Granted, that means living to tell it, and for all that Kurt feels guilty about lashing out, he can’t in good conscience trust a stranger with knowledge of magic. Even if he can’t actually use it.

Near dusk Blaine disappears, and Kurt panics - he should have been paying attention to their path, he doesn’t know the way back, Pavarotti can’t fly yet - but the fae soon reappears from a hole in a nearby fallen tree trunk.

“We’ll sleep here,” Blaine says quietly, apparently unaware of Kurt’s racing heartbeat. The hole is more like a shallow indentation, forcing the three to huddle close together until night falls. Pavarotti shifts against Kurt’s wings, and the discomfort of feathers rubbing against feathers makes him instinctively move away - until his wings touch Blaine’s, smooth and surprisingly fragile. The contact freezes him, leaves him helplessly pressed wing-to-wing with Blaine.

“Sorry,” Kurt mutters. “Not much room.”

“It-it’s fine,” Blaine says. He clears his throat; Kurt notices that his antennae are standing stock-still, barely even twitching towards sound. “They’re soft.”

“Yours are—”

“Weak. Barely stronger than a fly’s.”

“Like glass. Have you ever seen stained glass?” Blaine shakes his head. “Humans create it as an art. They put small pieces of colored glass together and create a picture or design of some kind with it, usually for a window. When the sun shines through it, the colors are stunningly beautiful. Or so the pictures make it seem.”

“Huh.”

“Besides, I don’t think of houseflies. More like… dragonflies.” Kurt gives him a reassuring - though hesitant - smile. “They’re a lot more majestic.”

“Well. Thank you,” Blaine says, avoiding his gaze. “I haven’t heard a compliment like that in a long time.”

“It seems like you needed it. A _fly_ , really?”

Blaine chuckles softly. “Like yours, they run in the family, except it isn’t the best heritage to be reminded of.” Before Kurt can come up with something else to say, he yawns. “I think I might actually sleep through a night for once.”

“Hey, that’s progress. You’ll be cured of your vampirism yet.”

The small smile that he receives before they fall asleep is a warm one, but Blaine’s eyes betray an uncertainty that likely reflects Kurt’s. After all, he’s being nice; earlier he hadn’t been kind at all. But, Kurt tells himself, he knows what insecurity feels like, and to help ease someone else’s - even Blaine’s - is a worthy task. That kind of basic kindness doesn’t imply trust. It’s as simple as that.

Why, then, is it still so maddeningly complicated?


	3. Part 2B: The Snake

Two days later, Kurt can’t help but ask, “How long is this going to take?”

“I can’t say,” Blaine says, frowning slightly. “I was able to fly most of the way to your region and it took somewhere around five nights. I found you on the sixth night. If we walk the whole way, I would say it’ll take at least twice that time.”

“Great.” Kurt hauls his bag more securely onto his shoulder, thankful that he’d packed relatively light for the trek. One problem prods at the back of his mind, however. “The seeds won’t last that long between us.”

“There’s food along the way.”

“Okay, but just so you know, I refuse to eat anything that glows.”

Blaine smiles and shakes his head. “Whatever you say.”

“How did anything come to glow where you’re from, anyway?” Kurt asks, deciding that this quiet summer evening is the perfect time to satisfy his curiosity about small details that have been all but lost amidst the issue of trust. Secretly, it’s also a test: if Blaine’s lying, he can’t possibly lie so effectively that he can answer everything Kurt can throw at him. “So the story goes, it was a place like any other in this forest.”

“No one’s really sure. Some think that a mage imbued some of the plants with some kind of magic in secret to bring some light back to the kingdom and they happened to hold on to the magic as they’ve grown over the years. Others think that it’s part of the natural magic of the forest, offering some relief to those who didn’t do anything wrong.”

“What do you think?”

“The latter is more comforting to me. It makes it seem like there’s a chance of being forgiven someday.” Blaine sighs. “That’s not as realistic, though. Magic isn’t supposed to have whatever we have that lets us forgive.”

“A heart?”

“Maybe that’s it.”

Kurt stares at a passing line of ants, careful not to get in their way. “If it doesn’t have a heart, how can you trust it?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re sort of a skeptic? 

“Skepticism saves lives.”

“I suppose. But anyway, if you see magic, it’s usually being directed by someone. It’s…” Blaine huffs a breath, stuttering as he tries to explain. “I guess it’s like the mage is giving a heart to it. So it’s less scary.”

“Unless the mage uses it in a scary way.”

“Of course. Haven’t you ever met anyone who uses their talent in scary ways?”

Kurt pauses, nearly about to disregard the question when he understands the point of it. “Fine. Magic probably isn’t _that_ bad.” Blaine grins, but Kurt adds, “I’m still making up my mind about you.”

“I got you to admit that magic isn’t inherently evil, though, and so quickly too.”

“You’re too convincing and reasonable for your own good.”

“Say what you like, I absolutely won something just now. Not your trust, but _something_.” His sudden excitement is unbearably contagious; Kurt ducks his head and smiles, as pleased as he is amused that Blaine seems to value his trust so highly that to even get so much as an “I’m wrong, you’re right” is a major victory. Blaine seems to be literally buzzing about it. It’s not until the buzzing gets progressively louder that Kurt realizes it’s nothing to do with either of them.

His blood goes cold with dread and he stops in his tracks as his antennae shudder from the sheer volume of, not buzzing, but _rattling_ coming from somewhere nearby. Blaine notices the sound a few steps later, slowing down and looking back at Kurt with wide, frightened eyes. 

“Where is it?” Blaine mouths. Kurt tries to locate the source, but they’re so close, and the rattle so loud, that it sounds like it’s everywhere at once. Blaine seems to be having the same problem; he turns his head left and right, antennae lowering almost to his hair due to being overwhelmed with the vibrations in the air.

The only thought in Kurt’s mind: _if it’s telling us it’s there, then it’s not hunting us_. It’s not very comforting; if they unwittingly step any closer, their enemy could very well decide that it would rather attack than wait for them to leave.

“Kurt?” Blaine says, his voice soft but clear in the midst of the bone-chilling rattle. He’s continuing slowly along their path, backwards, step by tentative step. “Come on.”

“Wait.”

“We can’t _wait_ —“ Scales shifting in loose dirt, scraping against stones, a flash of tan-brown motion just ahead catch Kurt’s senses and he sprints the short distance between them to grab Blaine around the waist, leaps and beats the air with his wings to help the jump carry them as far away as possible. Dry leaves and soil spray into them when the snake collides with the spot where Blaine had been standing. The missed strike throws Kurt off and they tumble into a dense, leafy thicket, the branches clawing at their skin.

Instead of the ground, they land on an uncomfortable bed of twigs, tangled up in each other. Kurt pushes his upper body from Blaine’s, twists around and peers through the gaps in the bushes. The snake’s rattling has ceased, and it slides slowly away, a visible lump distorting the shape of its body. Kurt’s heart drops through his chest.

“Pavarotti…”

“Kurt. Kurt, um, you’re pinning me against something sharp, can you…”

Kurt doesn’t hear the words. He turns back around and stares down at Blaine, who doesn’t seem to have fully registered the last fifteen seconds. “I think Pavarotti’s gone.”

“Gone? You mean…” Blinking up at him, Blaine furrows his brows. Something catches his eye and he glances somewhere above Kurt. “Huh?”

“Blaine, just _think_ about it, I don’t want to say it,” Kurt says, mentally cursing how his shoulders have already started to shake with emotion.

“No, he’s up there,” Blaine says. He points up and Kurt follows with his eyes until they meet white-yellow feathers near the top of the thicket. A familiar chirp confirms that he’s not just seeing things. “I don’t know how." 

“Did he fly?” Kurt asks slowly, disoriented by the turnaround of being attacked by a _rattlesnake_ and thinking that it had eaten Pavarotti only to discover that the injured bird somehow got to where he is now. His heart doesn’t seem to want to slow down, possibly expecting something else to happen any second. 

“It’s not possible, is it? He’s still bandaged.” Blaine squirms, alerting Kurt to the fact that he’s still very much on top of him. He scrambles away with a brief apology, cheeks burning from more than just the cuts in his skin, and looks around for a way out of the thicket. Blaine stands, rubbing at his lower back and wincing. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Kurt says again. He starts to make his way through the underbrush, careful not to let any branches ricochet back into Blaine, the person he just risked his own life to save. The one he doesn’t trust, not one bit, except the thought of the snake turning him into another lump in its body makes something lodge painfully in his throat. Surely it’s normal to be protective of kin in such situations. After all, Kurt knows he wouldn’t let even the most hated person in his life - a bully from his schooling days - die that way. The scary part is how certain he is that it’s much more complicated than that, like everything else that has to do with Blaine. But why?

“I don’t really know what just happened. There was a snake, and it went for me, and you—“ Blaine abruptly stops speaking, and the space behind Kurt is quiet aside from footsteps and snapping twigs. “You saved my life.”

“I got lucky,” Kurt mutters. He shoves the last branch aside and lets Blaine through after him. Blades of grass tickle at his sides. “It had just eaten. It wasn’t hungry, and it was slow.”

“Still. If it weren’t for you, it would’ve bitten me. Hey.” Blaine grabs Kurt’s arm, spinning him around to face him. His face has color now, no longer as sick from perpetual darkness as he’d been when they met. He looks _warm_ , his bright, expressive eyes inviting Kurt to keep looking. “Thank you.” 

“It was… no one deserves that fate,” Kurt says, managing a tiny smile. “I’m just glad it worked out in the end.”

“I—“ Blaine yelps, cutting himself off as he ducks. Pavarotti lands next to him, having fluttered awkwardly down to their level. Kurt smiles wider and reaches out to pet at his feathers.

“How did you get up there?” he murmurs.

“Maybe he’s just quick to heal.”

“Maybe. I didn’t think it was possible for broken bones to allow something like that so soon.” Kurt examines the injured wing. “It’s not ready for flight, though; he must have gone from branch to branch to get up there. Sorry, Pav.” 

“May I?” Kurt looks away from Pavarotti to see Blaine reaching his hand out towards the canary. He hesitates, but upon noticing that Pavarotti isn’t showing any signs of discomfort, he nods. Blaine closes the distance and strokes gently over Pavarotti’s uninjured wing feathers, a kind smile bringing a new sort of light to his face.

Kurt’s heart jumps, begins to race again. He _likes_ Blaine. He enjoys his company in spite of his own resistance to it. This could be incredibly dangerous for him. “We should keep going.”

“Right.” Blaine takes a breath and looks at Kurt, straightening up. “You know, I bet we could take on anything together. Who needs magic or talents, anyway?”

Kurt lets one word - together - hang between them. A thin string made of _something_ from his chest to Blaine’s. To cut it now would hurt a little. To have it be cut it later, after letting it strengthen with hope, would hurt much more. If he’s going to avoid that, he needs to turn back now.

Instead Kurt turns to the west, opposite the direction of the setting sun.


	4. Part 2C: The Storm

“I’d rather take the snake again than this,” Kurt growls as thunder booms above them for the second time. The air is thick with humidity and it’s difficult to breathe, and they both know it will be worse when it starts to rain. But they have to keep moving.

“We don’t have to keep moving,” Blaine says; apparently he’d been thinking out loud. “It can’t last forever. We can just find somewhere to hunker down and wait it out.”

Looking around at the trees and fallen trunks, none of which seem to have hollows within reach, Kurt says, “I don’t see anywhere that’ll keep us dry.” Blaine indicates a large bush dotted with pale purple wildflowers a short distance off course.

“Those leaves look big enough to cover us.” 

Having no better alternative, Kurt agrees just as a raindrop lands near his feet, soaking his boots. “Oh, come on.” 

“Run!” Blaine shouts, already sprinting off as the rain begins to turn from a drizzle to a downpour. Kurt runs after him, tries to cover more ground by flying but the repeated impact of raindrops on his wings grounds him so effectively that Pavarotti flaps past him and reaches the leafy bush first out of all three of them. Blaine disappears into the bush second, and Kurt follows, dripping wet.

“I hate rain,” he says as they wind between large heart-shaped leaves, searching for a dry patch that will at least fit the two fae - Pavarotti seems less than concerned with getting his feathers wet. Blaine locates a suitable area and sits down among the dry leaves from wildflower bushes past that now serve the purpose of fertilizing the plant. Sitting next to him, Kurt quickly realizes that space is limited; he must press close to Blaine or risk getting splashed by errant droplets.

“You should know by now that I don’t bite,” Blaine says, smiling.

“I’m not so sure,” Kurt mumbles, but he allows the miniscule space he’d been holding between them to close anyway. Now touching him from shoulder to thigh, Kurt bends his outside leg at the knee and rests his arm on top, hoping to appear casual even as his heartbeat, his own personal traitor, picks up. 

“You know,” Blaine says after a moment of nothing but the storm’s thundering soliloquy, “I actually love rain.”

“Of course you do.”

“It sounds like music,” he continues, ignoring him. “Listen.”

Kurt listens. At first it just sounds like nonsensical white noise, but then he picks up a rhythm. It drums, soothing, in his head, driving all else out. A melody kicks in; he can’t tell whether it’s actually there or all in his head, but he doesn’t particularly care. His muscles begin to relax - maybe Blaine has a point. 

Lightning flashes in the darkness between the leaves, thunder rumbles, and Kurt’s jerked out of his reverie with a start, leaning impossibly closer to Blaine. He realizes his mistake instantly, says, “Sorry, I don’t, it usually doesn’t bother me like this. But then, I usually have a roof over my head.”

“I don’t mind.” Of course he doesn’t. “Maybe we should talk about something else. The storm will pass faster if we’re distracted, right?”

“Okay,” Kurt says, too tired, confused, soaking wet to muster up any pointless resistance. “What’s the topic?”

“Humans.”

“What?”

“Well, they’re fascinating, are they not? They look so much like us.”

“They’re not us, though. They don’t even know that we exist.”

“But we know so much about them.” Blaine picks at the collar of his tailcoat, tugging it away from his neck. “We know what they read and write, we know their music, their science, their philosophies… just about anything that can be observed or read, we’ve done it. At least, we of the West Kingdom have, I don’t know…”

“We’ve learned it all, too,” Kurt says. “What are you getting at?”

“I just think it’s interesting that we know all of this, but we don’t know what it’s like to _be_ human. Unless we somehow find out, I imagine they’ll always be a bit of a mystery.”

“I don’t think I want to know that,” Kurt says, but he thinks of the reach that humans have, their ability to, when they’re not destroying things, create things of such grand beauty. All without even a notion of magic, or talents in the way that Kurt knows them. In fact, humans can have many talents, seemingly without giving them a second thought. They don’t have to be frightened of the forest’s predators because they’re not prey to snakes or hawks. He feels _small_ compared to them. Insignificantly so. 

“You know what I wish?” Blaine asks. Kurt turns his head, finds himself face-to-face with the light in Blaine’s eyes. How wrong he’d been to think of him as a manifestation of darkness. “I wish I knew what it was like to be a human in love.”

“Why?” Kurt’s throat feels dry, his tongue heavy and clumsy.

“They write of it as though it’s magic.” Blaine clears his throat, glances down. His eyelashes fan out against his cheeks as he blinks. “Uh, do you have any wishes?” 

“Well, if we’re going for complete honesty all of a sudden…”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to put you on the spot. I’m just curious. If you say you wish you had a change of clothes, that’d be perfectly acceptable.”

“I do wish that,” Kurt mutters. He hesitates, then adds, “But I’ll give you something. I wish I wasn’t so constrained. It seems like everyone, humans especially, can do something meaningful with their talents. Until recently I thought I could do the same, and I made sure everyone knew how much I believed it. Now I’m not so sure, talentless as I’ve turned out to be.” Blaine shakes his head, a wry smile appearing on his lips, and Kurt bristles slightly, asks, “What?” 

“Kurt. You saved me from a rattlesnake, you’ve shown more care for Pavarotti than I’ve seen anyone care for any other creature, and you’ve proven to be one of the bravest people I’ve ever met just because you gave me a chance where most wouldn’t have dared. You don’t need magic or so-called talents.” He meets Kurt’s eyes. “You are unlimited.”

“I—“ His eyes meet Kurt’s lips, a split-second of hope, and suddenly it’s the most sensible thing in the world to close that final space between them. So Kurt drops his precautions, lets the rain wash them away, and kisses him. His lips are soft, his hand warm on Kurt’s cheek, and the storm’s melody returns to shut out the world around them.

It takes a breathtaking eternity to break apart, and another one to fully understand what happened; Kurt blinks awake from the kiss as if from a dream, his brain sluggish with muddled, half-formed thoughts. The rain continues to pour, lightning strikes, but he barely even flinches. He’s caught by Blaine’s gaze, trying to read his nervous-breathless-stunned expression.

“I’m…” Sorry? Terrified? Relieved? Instead of anything coherent or meaningful, Kurt simply says, “Um. ” 

“Wow. That’s, uh, unexpected,” Blaine says quietly. Kurt opens his mouth to properly apologize but he’s interrupted when Blaine continues, “I liked it. Sort of an understatement, but—“

“You mean…”

“I would gladly do that again,” Blaine says, smiling a little. “If that’s okay.”

“I want to make something clear,” Kurt says. “I like you. I think you’re everything I didn’t expect from you and then some. But I, I don’t know yet.” Something in Blaine’s face falls, but he still smiles as he glances up to see Pavarotti perched on a branch above them. The storm has mostly abated in that all-of-a-sudden way they do, with only a soft sprinkle of rain still falling.

“I understand.” 

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to kiss you some more,” Kurt says after a moment of thought, deciding that he has already passed a point of no return and might as well embrace it. Besides, Blaine’s _lips_ , the way he smiles from his mouth to his eyes, his boundless charm - Kurt’s well aware of what may happen to his heart. It’s already partway there. But he must protect himself, let his inhibitions go bit by bit rather than shattering them all at once only to find that he must somehow piece them back together.

For now, though, another kiss will satisfy him. And another, and another, until their breath has been stolen away by each other’s lips and a canary chirps impatiently from beyond their wonderfully cramped sanctuary.


	5. Part 2D: The Owl

“I’ve never heard of this before,” Kurt says in awe, examining Pavarotti’s wing. He’d been flying with perfect ease just moments ago, darting away after Kurt took off the bandage to change it, and he and Blaine had been so shocked that they stopped to coax him back down in order to check him over. “I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure he’s completely healed. It should have taken days or even weeks longer.”

“His timing couldn’t be more perfect,” Blaine says as Kurt lets Pavarotti return to the air.

“Why’s that?”

“I recognize this area. We’re almost there.”

“Shouldn’t we find somewhere to sleep for the night?”

“Um. It’s day.”

“It’s…” Kurt looks around them; the light is fading and it feels like it should be dusk. Yet he has no reason to doubt Blaine, as they haven’t been walking nearly long enough for the sun to have set. The only explanation is that Blaine has been telling the truth about the eternal darkness of his home all along. That part of the story, at least, comes from something very real. “I’m not sure I like this.”

“It’ll be fine. Just stay close, both of you.” Pavarotti, now fluttering along above them, understands as little of their language as always. But he seems uneasy as well, and lands nearby in order to hop along at their pace. Kurt wants to suggest using their wings now that they have no reason to walk every foot of the way, but the increasing darkness silences him, makes him want to step with care so as to avoid rushing into potential danger.

“Oh!” Kurt exclaims, forgetting his caution when he sees something glowing with the gold of sunset ahead. “It’s your strange plant.” 

“That it is.”

“What do you call it?”

“We don’t have a formal name for the plant itself, but the glowing berries it bears are called sunberries. Not the most creative of names, but many of us miss having the real thing, after all.”

They approach the sunberry plant slowly; standing in its light is almost like standing in a clearing at midday. However, this light shimmers with an unknown magic, hanging in the atmosphere like a fog that reveals rather than hides.

“It’s been a lifesaver, but it’s nothing like real sunlight. I know that now,” Blaine says with a smile, looking at Kurt. “This light is cold, so it’s hardly a fair substitute.”

Kurt nods; as bright and oddly welcoming as the plant is, it lacks the sun’s warmth and energizing power. He watches Blaine pluck a pink berry from the bush - it’s smaller than a typical wild blueberry and fits in the hollow of Blaine’s palm. “What do they taste like?” 

“Probably not good. They’re not edible,” Blaine says to Kurt’s questioning look. He holds the berry up to Kurt, who takes it. Even after hearing Blaine’s explanation, he expects the berry to be warm with the glow, but instead it’s cool to the touch. As he stares at it, he sees Blaine watching him out of the periphery of his vision with his lips parted, eyes bright. “Kurt, you’re—“

He twists around suddenly, searching for something above them, his antennae shivering as they sense vibrations. Kurt goes rigid and listens; a soft whisper of a rustling noise reaches his antennae, undetectable to his ears.

“Duck!” Blaine shouts, but Kurt’s frozen in place. He grips the berry tight just as a sharp talon rips through his shoulder, sheer strength quickly rendering his arm limp and useless with a shock of white-hot pain. He’s pulled from the ground with barely a moment to call after Blaine; his voice gets caught in his throat and he squeezes his eyes shut as if that will stave off the burning in his arm. Clinging to the berry as he would a lifeline, Kurt’s thoughts swim in a blur as he’s carried higher than he could ever hope to fly on his own. He vaguely notices that his wings are crushed against his back, not in pain - there are no bones or nerve endings to injure - but the sensation of it, of being trapped, is almost worse than his broken arm. 

Adrenaline pulses through him, sharpening his senses even as the clarity of his vision fades in and out. The air rushing around him renders his sensitive antennae useless, so he looks up, blinking slowly through the darkness at a large, feathered body and whisper-soft wings beating evenly, the rhythm barely marred by the effort of carrying Kurt. He’s staring blankly at one of the shining black talons holding him in its viselike grip when the owl twists suddenly, swinging him through the air. It happens again from another direction and Kurt, hardly daring to hope, looks around frantically for the cause. In the light from the berry he spots a yellow-and-navy blur as it darts into the owl’s underbelly, not nearly large or strong enough to hurt it but enough to annoy it.

“Pav?” Kurt murmurs to himself, convinced he’s imagining things. The canary flies into the owl’s legs, futilely scratching at the thick layer of fur-like feathers with his much smaller claws. Pavarotti is close enough now that Kurt can see the figure on top of him. “…Blaine?” 

Blaine’s too busy urging Pavarotti on to hear Kurt’s soft, disbelieving voice, but it’s undoubtedly him with his once-expensive (now worn-out) attire and blue dragonfly’s wings. The owl veers dangerously around a tree, nearly clipping a branch with an outstretched wing as it tries to shake off its tormentor. What Pavarotti lacks in size, however, he makes up for in persistence. 

Finally making the choice between a small meal and easier flight for escape, the owl drops Kurt.

His wings crumpled and useless, he falls, missing large branches and feeling the sting of small twigs as they scrape his skin. He descends past the canopy, the dark forest floor coming up quickly, and braces for the worst. But something feathery collides with him in midair and he’s knocked into a small sunberry patch, which breaks his fall - although he still lands heavily on his broken arm. Head spinning, eyes stinging from the sudden onslaught of light, Kurt gingerly rolls himself off of his injured arm to his other side and lies there, exhausted. A gentle breeze picks up and the way the glowing berries move around him makes them seem like fireflies. The thought is enough to bring a tired smile to his lips.

“Kurt!” The shout makes him flinch, but only momentarily. Kurt listens hard, feels the leaves around him shiver as something makes its way towards him. “Are you in here?”

“Here,” Kurt says, barely loud enough to be heard. Leaves rustle and Blaine comes from between them, worry etched in every angle of him. He spots Kurt and kneels next to him, carefully lifts him so he’s sitting upright against Blaine’s chest. “Guess you were right.” 

“About what?”

“Pavarotti _can_ carry at least one of us.” Blaine stares at him for a moment, then laughs softly. The motion shifts Kurt’s arm and he winces, but oddly enough, his injuries don’t hurt so much as feel strangely uncomfortable. It’s like a tingling sensation beneath his skin.

“You’re hurt,” Blaine says, wrapping an arm around Kurt’s torso to hold him steady. “Your arm?”

“Arm, some bad scratches, wings,” Kurt mutters, distracted by the growing, pulsating heat in those areas. “Blaine, I don’t know, something’s happening.”

“What do you mean?”

“I-I don’t feel like I’m _hurt_ , it feels… weird.” Brows furrowed, Blaine strokes his hand along Kurt’s arm, presumably searching for the broken bone - but when he reaches it, the heat suddenly reaches a fever pitch and Kurt gasps, eyes watering.

“Oh no, I’m- Kurt, are you okay?”

“I—“ The burning in his arm dissipates as quickly as it had exploded at Blaine’s touch, and Kurt, an outlandish theory beginning to dawn on him, lifts his arm and bends it. “I don’t think it’s broken anymore.”

“That’s not possible, are you sure you’re not in shock or something?”

“Touch me here,” Kurt says, indicating his other shoulder, where a gash from the owl’s talon still bleeds despite the pain having been replaced by the strange, warm tingling. Blaine hesitates, eyes wide at the apparent seriousness of his injury. “Go ahead. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay…” Blaine carefully places his palm over the cut, and the heat returns; Kurt screws his face up against it, waiting it out as Blaine watches his arm in awe. When it finally fades out, Kurt opens his eyes and twists his head to look. The gash is gone, leaving behind only the blood that had managed to escape before the wound was healed. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you?” Kurt says wryly. He takes Blaine’s hand - feeling the various deep scrapes and bruises on his own from the fall disappear in flashes of warmth - and guides it back towards his wings, wondering. There isn’t much of a sensation due to the lack of receptors in his wings, but sure enough, blood begins to return to them and they slowly return to normal. “Is, um, healing a mage power?”

“I, I think so, but…” Blaine looks from his hands to Kurt. “There has never been a healing mage in my family, and not many at all since the light was lost.”

“Well, unless you have another explanation…” Kurt trails off, eyes on Blaine. He’s not sure what to think - a part of him is still frightened by the idea of such magic, another part is happy for Blaine, and yet another is admittedly jealous. 

“I can’t believe it,” Blaine murmurs. Kurt stands up, lets himself walk off the shaking in his legs from his ordeal and stretches his arms. He finds that the sunberry he’d been holding has been crushed by his hand. The juice, curiously enough, doesn’t glow, but it makes his palm shine somehow. He wipes it off on a nearby leaf. “Do you think this is how Pavarotti healed so quickly?”

Kurt nods. “I felt something even when you weren’t touching me, so it must get more powerful with proximity.”

“I didn’t touch Pavarotti’s wing much,” Blaine says, working it out. “So instead of healing immediately, it just healed faster than normal.” He shakes his head. “I don’t seem to have any control over it.”

“Maybe it comes with practice.”

Blaine glances up at Kurt, whose arms are crossed, and stands. “If I could make this happen for you, I would.”

Kurt smiles. “I appreciate the thought, but I can manage.” Out of nowhere, Pavarotti barges into view; Kurt yelps and finds himself caught in Blaine’s arms, his heart in overdrive. Once he’s calmed down, he mumbles, “I think almost becoming bird food made me jumpy.”

“That’s okay. We’re actually closer than we were before, but I understand if you want to stay here for a while.”

“No. We can keep going. Just… stay close?”

“Of course. We’ll be safe.” Blaine smiles. “I promise.” 

Taking Kurt’s hand, Blaine leads him out of the sunberry bushes and into darkness. Kurt looks up, wary of the owl’s return, but he doesn’t pull away or say a word. The trees thicken and seem to grow taller as they reach a small oak tree grove, and every so often Kurt thinks he sees something move out of the corner of his eye. It’s enough to worry him; without realizing it, he squeezes Blaine’s hand each time it happens.

“Are you okay? Do you need to stop?”

“No, I think I’m just seeing things. I’m not used to this,” Kurt says, looking up and seeing nothing but dark through the leafy treetops. It’s eerie, to say the least. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Like I said, we’re close. It might look like it, but this area isn’t uninhabited.” Blaine looks at him, reads the apprehension in his eyes. “They won’t hurt us. You have my word on that.” 

“Alright,” Kurt says, nodding. “I trust you.” 

“It’s just through—“ Blaine stops abruptly, stares at him in disbelief. “You do?”

“I think you’ve done plenty to earn my trust by now,” Kurt says. “I’ve seen enough, too. More than I thought I ever would, actually.” Blaine grins, leads him through a path that has been built through a thorny thicket that grows up a small hill.

“You’ve yet to see the best the West Kingdom has to offer,” he says; he has a new bounce in his step, and even in the perpetual shadows his cheeks seem to glow with the simple sincerity of his smile. Kurt watches him instead of where he’s walking; as a result, they collide when Blaine stops without warning. “Oh, I’m sorry. I think you should go first now.”

“Why?” Kurt asks, eyes narrowed.

“Trust me. I think you’ll enjoy the view.”

_Trust me_. Kurt steps forward and brushes aside the branches that block the end of the path, moves out to the peak of the hill they’d been climbing. His breath instantly catches in his throat at the sight in front of him. 

A massive, gnarled oak tree stands in the grove, much older than the others, its roots twisted and bulging at the base. It’s not the tallest tree, but certainly it’s the largest in girth, and the space its branches take up - some having grown so thick and heavy that they touch the forest floor - far outstrips any tree Kurt has ever seen. The sheer size isn’t nearly the most eye-catching thing about the tree, however. This tree _glows_.

Not like the sunberry bushes, which are a strange but somehow natural phenomenon. The oak tree glows from within, golden light pouring from crevices and hollows, round points of light - sunberries again - forming lit paths to what must be entrances and doorways.

“It’s a palace, isn’t it?” Kurt says softly, aware of Blaine standing quietly behind him. It’s a kingdom, after all. What’s a kingdom without a palace? It occurs to him that, aside from the story of the West Kingdom and the corrupt king he knows from his youth, he knows nothing of who may live in this grand old oak tree. “It’s beautiful. You were, once again, right.”

“Kurt,” Blaine says, drawing up next to him and taking a breath. His hand brushes Kurt’s as if he wants to hold it. “I would like to formally welcome you to my home.”


	6. Part 3: The End

“That’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.”

Blaine laughs and shakes his head. “I’m telling you, I’m not fond of it. ‘Prince Blaine.’ It’s pretentious, isn’t it?” 

“It’s not pretentious if it’s _true_.” Kurt falls back on the bed they’ve shared since their second night in the palace, an arrangement suggested by Blaine, who had muttered something about it being weird to sleep alone after their journey together. Kurt went with it, adding that he felt a little uncomfortable sleeping in the echoing, spacious room that he was originally given. This was true, but he didn’t mention that he mostly wanted to stay close to Blaine. And maybe kiss him in private a little, or perhaps a lot.

“I’ll use a title when I’m crowned. If that ever happens.” Kurt shifts uncomfortably, twisting around to lie on his stomach and look at Blaine with a raised eyebrow. “I know you think the partnering tradition is ridiculous too.” 

“Why can’t a person reign on their own?” Kurt asks. “I understand the ‘two heads are better than one’ idea, but it seems silly when the next heir is… well, you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, you’re a decent person.” 

“When you met me you thought I was either a vampire or someone out to murder you or something.” Kurt opens his mouth to argue that he doesn’t think that _anymore_ , but Blaine continues, “It’s been the tradition ever since the light was lost. My great-great-grandfather had been reigning on his own, and look where that got us.” 

“Okay. Has anyone been happy with their partners?”

“My mom used to be. But…” 

Kurt nods. Blaine’s father had left soon after his brother, Cooper, had shirked his eligibility as the first heir by joining a traveling band of entertainers - some of the only West Kingdom citizens that meet fae outside the realm, although they’re not recognized as mages, but magicians, thanks to magic talents like Cooper’s ability to camouflage himself, others, and objects so well it’s as if they are invisible. Or so Blaine tells him.

“I don’t know. I think most of us have lost hope of the sun returning. No one knows what it will take for the curse to be lifted.” 

“A happy ruler might be a good start.” 

Blaine watches him with a strange intensity, such that Kurt looks away to pick at the (genuine spider silk) sheets. He has a feeling he knows what’s on Blaine’s mind. The worrying part is, he almost wants to bring it up himself, put the idea forward. To be royalty, to be with Blaine…

But he already has a home, and a father who must be wondering if he’s still alive. Not to mention he has only known Blaine for a few weeks, has only been accepting these feelings he has for a fraction of that time. Could he really settle down so easily? After all, humans sometimes describe their concept of marriage - similar to fae partnering - as limiting. Like a ball and chain. A trap. Then again, others describe it as a lifetime of joy with a best friend. How is he supposed to know which is true for him? Humans really are very confusing sometimes.

“Your Highness?” Blaine looks to the door and Kurt follows suit; he recognizes the voice as belonging to a member of the waitstaff, one of surprisingly few staff in the palace. “I hope I’m not… interrupting.” 

Kurt’s face warms as Blaine responds, “Not at all. Come in.” Hurrying to sit up on the bed, Kurt offers a smile as the waitress enters the room. “Is there something wrong?”

“I’m afraid so. You see, it’s the bird.”

“Pavarotti?”

“The families who intended to give him to you have recaptured him. I witnessed the caging in the clearing to the north. I was asked not to say a word, but, of course, I serve you first and foremost." 

“Thank you for telling me this,” Blaine says as Kurt gets to his feet, anger simmering in his chest at the thought of Pavarotti, who had grown to trust them enough to follow them all this way, shoved into a cage to be given as a novelty gift. “Where are they now?”

“They were heading towards the main entrance hall, the only room large enough for the cage, I think—“ A vibration trembles through the air, the sound of many voices and footsteps. “That would be them.”

Kurt looks at Blaine, who nods. “We will go meet them immediately.” The waitress glances towards Kurt at _we_ , but her expression is unreadable. The next thing he knows, he’s following a half step behind Blaine, wondering what he plans to do. Kurt doesn’t know much about royal etiquette but it would probably be rude to reject a gift from the oldest, most well-respected families of the West Kingdom. On the other hand, Pavarotti is no mere gift, but a living creature.

“Should I stay back?” Kurt asks when they reach the door that opens to the entrance hall. “I don’t want to get in the way.”

Blaine frowns, says, “Why would you get in the way? Besides, I want you there. If that’s okay.”

Nodding, Kurt steps through the door that Blaine opens for him with a blush, feeling many eyes on him and hearing whispers that come to an abrupt stop when the prince himself comes through. Pavarotti is by far the most obvious fixture in the room, sitting uncharacteristically still on the floor of a magnificent silver cage with a single perch inside, in front of the small crowd that has gathered.

“Your Highness,” one of the family heads, a unusually tall fae with wings and fine clothing the color of ripe summer raspberries, says as he bows. The rest follow his lead, and Kurt hangs back slightly behind Blaine, almost bowing himself seeing as it’s not like he’s royalty. He isn’t even a mage like all those gathered in front of them (the thought frightens him for just a moment, the idea that all those fae can control some aspect of magic at will; Kurt, meanwhile, is defenseless). But, as Blaine’s… what? Special guest? Friend? As Blaine’s _something_ , he knows he need not bow.

Figures. The moment he finally knows who Blaine is, he’s wondering about himself.

“We would like to present you with our gift in honor of your royal eligibility, the age of which you reached at the start of this past spring.” Twenty-one years, Kurt remembers, is the age when a royal heir may take a partner in order to take over the kingdom.

“I would like to say that I appreciate the sentiment,” Blaine says. “Truly. However, I can’t accept the gift of a captive living being. Particularly not one I already consider a trustworthy companion.” The fae look at each other; Kurt spots some disapproving glances. “I couldn’t bear to keep in a cage the reason I met, and didn’t lose, the person I have since come to love.”

All pairs of eyes are back on Kurt, who stares wide-eyed at the side of Blaine’s head, suddenly feeling rather lightheaded from the way his breath has stopped. Calmly - how could he possibly be so calm? - Blaine walks to the cage and unhooks the latch, opening the door.

“I’m sorry, Pav,” he says softly. The canary tilts his head from side to side, makes small hops towards Blaine. Someone opens the doors to the outside, and the crowd parts to let Blaine lead Pavarotti to them. “You may go where your heart takes you.”

Pavarotti’s eye fixes on Kurt across the room for a moment or two, and then he’s gone, chirping as he takes flight.

Whispers follow Blaine through the hall back to Kurt, courtesy apparently forgotten in the light of the rejection of a gift and the admittance of love. However, he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered as he smiles brightly at Kurt, gesturing to an open door off to the side. Kurt walks on autopilot, so engrossed in his own thoughts that he almost misses it when Blaine tells him to go into an unfamiliar room.

“I get the feeling you have something to say,” he says when he closes the door behind them. For a second, though, Kurt has no words - this room is decorated with feathers of all shapes, colors, and sizes, the smallest made, curiously, into quill pens and the largest simply on display. “They’ve been collected over many generations from the forest floor. My family has a bit of a thing for birds,” he adds sheepishly.

“I can see that,” Kurt says, gazing at an iridescent green hummingbird feather. Blaine sits on an armchair while Kurt looks around. Finally, he quits looking at feathers to round on Blaine, standing up straight with his arms crossed. “So, what was that all about?”

“I told you I never intended to keep Pavarotti caged, didn’t I?”

“Not _that_. You know what I mean. Just throwing it out there, I had no idea, I thought…” Kurt takes a deep breath. “It just took me by surprise, seeing as you’ve never told me. 

“Do you remember my wish? I don’t know if you do.” He remembers, but he lets Blaine go on. “I wished I was a human in love.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but you’re still not a human,” Kurt says. Blaine laughs, shaking his head.

“I don’t have to be one, it turns out. It really does feel like magic, the natural kind that no one can control. Like… like the sun, it’s warmth and light, and like the sun, it’s something I never knew I was missing until I met you. I think it’s why I discovered my own magic.” He stands, takes Kurt’s hand and pulls it to his chest. “It came from my heart.”

Kurt looks at his hand on Blaine’s chest; he can feel his heartbeat, quick and lively. He meets Blaine’s eyes, waiting for him to say something, sees the light in them. A spark of magic. In other words, love in the simplest and most intricate sense. “I love you too.” He lets out a breath, laughs, says again, “I love you.”

Blaine kisses him before either of them have the chance to speak further, a soft press of lips that soon turns fervent, deep, calling up an intense heat as physical as it is emotional. But a single reservation lingers in the back of Kurt’s mind and he pulls back, blinking his eyes open as Blaine still chases his lips.

“I-I don’t know if I can stay,” he says. Blaine looks at him, cheeks still pink even as his expression falls. “I’m not from here. I can’t control magic.”

“But…”

“My dad has no idea where I am. If nothing else, I need to go home so I can see him and let him know I’m okay.” Blaine steps back and clears his throat, puts on a smile.

“You’re right, I don’t want to keep you away from your home. And, um, and I suppose if you’re not comfortable here, it might be best. For you.”

Kurt watches him, unsure how to proceed. Already Blaine seems distant, even when just moments ago they had been closer than Kurt ever thought possible. “Maybe I can find Pavarotti nearby. He knows the way, we can fly together.”

“Yeah. That sounds…” Blaine takes in a deep breath, lets it out. “Sounds perfect.”

“I don’t want to get too attached to this place,” Kurt says, mostly trying to convince himself. Blaine just nods along, hands in the pockets of his coat. “The longer I’m here, the harder it will be to leave. Right?” 

“Yeah. I’ll help you find Pav. Hopefully he hasn’t gone too far.” 

They’re silent as they leave the palace behind, walking back into the dark, taking flight for short distances to cover more ground. Kurt notices pockets of light in the trees around them where fae must live, many of them high up in order to maintain some distance from ground-dwelling predators. He imagines what it must have been like when the sun still shone through the leaves, dappling the forest floor in patterns that shift at the whims of an easy summer breeze. Nights would have been lit by the moon more often than not, and perhaps if they climbed high enough, they could have peered through the treetops at the stars.

At home, he can climb to the stars to his heart’s content (granted his body feels up to the challenging task). But as for doing something greater than himself, reaching the figurative stars, it seems futile there, where grand oak palaces of curse-defying light and mysterious powers are things of stories and nothing more. Where romance and the all-consuming magic that is love exist, but most likely not for him.

Where his journey to the fabled West Kingdom will slowly but surely turn into a memory. Perhaps he will begin to doubt it even happened - he’ll begin to think it was all a dream. But what can he do here but be the lesser partner - no talent, no magic - of a king-to-be? Certainly only more of the same, just with a different setting and without the steady presence of his dad.

He wants to leave; he wants to stay. The worst kind of choice is one where he wants both without the possibility of having both - if he wanted neither, he could choose something else entirely. 

“I don’t see him, do you?” Kurt shakes his head guiltily. He hadn’t even been looking. “We might have to try climbing up and going from tree to tree.”

Staring up at the nearest branch, Kurt begins to ask how they’ll possibly reach it - it’s far outside flight range for either of them, they could strain a muscle or two - but a melodic bird call interrupts him and he covers his head, flinching despite knowing full well that owls don’t make that sound. It’s the sound of spring’s return, a trilling whistle that falls pleasantly on the ears. It’s familiar, and as Kurt stands back up and looks around, a small beacon of light followed by a dark shadow dives low above them. 

“What—“ Blaine, who’d ducked out of the way, whirls around, frightened. “Kurt, we need to go, right now.” 

“No.” Kurt just barely registers Blaine’s wide-eyed surprise at his refusal. The shadow has landed softly in front of them, the light from a sunberry in its beak revealing it to be a blackbird, its eyes ringed with bright yellow, stark beside feathers the color of the West Kingdom’s sky. “Ringo?” 

The blackbird takes a few quick steps towards them; Blaine stares in awe. “You know him?”

“I have since I was born,” Kurt says, smiling as he gently strokes Ringo’s feathers. The bird stands slightly taller than him, unlike Pavarotti whose head came to Kurt’s chest. “This is the blackbird my mom rescued, you know, the one that brings us scraps of metal for Dad’s business.”

“And his name is Ringo?”

Kurt shrugs, says, “My mom gave him that name. She never explained whether it means something or not. She would have used his given name, except birds don’t have names that make sense in our language. He responds to it, though.” Ringo makes a series of chattering noises after dropping the sunberry in front of him. Kurt picks it up, confused. “Where did you get this?”

Ringo ruffles his feathers, tilts his head from left to right. He’s aware by now that Kurt can’t understand his chirps, nor can he understand fae, but he’s clever enough to guess and respond with actions. “Maybe he picked it up around here.” 

Kurt shakes his head. “When he brings us something that isn’t for Dad, it means something. It had to have come from home, maybe like a message? But I don’t understand how. Sunberries don’t grow there.” Ringo chirps, goes to a nearby sunberry bush and pulls a short sprig off. He returns to them and jabs it at Blaine, who yelps, then drops it on the ground.

“Is he accusing me of something?” Blaine asks. Kurt, looking between the sprig and Blaine, suddenly remembers a detail from the very first time they met.

“What did you do with your ‘peace offering?’” he says, smiling a little. “Dropped it, right?”

“Oh. Yeah, I think so. I didn’t want your dad to see it after how smoothly things went with you.”

“You looked _scary_. Anyway, how fast do these plants grow?”

“No idea. They always seem to pop up without warning. They…” It finally dawns on Blaine what must have happened. “ _Oh_.”

“Apparently they can grow perfectly well with sunlight. Good to know,” Kurt adds, putting the berry from Ringo in the bag he has managed to hold on to all this time.  “I’ll need some way to, uh, to remember.”

Blaine’s excitement at learning of the sunberry bush fades. “You can ride Ringo home, can’t you?” he says softly. “He’s a strong flier.”

Kurt nods. For a moment it had seemed as though Pavarotti’s absence would make his decision for him, but now Ringo’s appearance has done the same, but in the opposite direction. Why else would Ringo have gone searching for him with such a token? His dad had to have sent him. “I should go, I suppose.”

“Just one more thing,” Blaine says, moving close, and Kurt kisses him because he can’t hold it back, much like the tears that finally break free. 

“I love you,” Kurt says between kisses. “Won’t forget you.”

“I love you too,” Blaine says when they stop, catching their breath. He presses their foreheads together and reaches around Kurt’s waist to carefully stroke at his wings. He laughs, his cheeks wet with tears. “It’s like we’re losing the light all over again.”

“Oh, Blaine, don’t—“ 

“It’s true. For me, at least.” He smiles. “Now that I’ve known you, maybe I can be the light for others. Help to heal them, so to speak.” 

Heartbreak. Humans write of that, too. Maybe the two species aren’t so different, after all. Maybe they have the same potential to connect, to create, to destroy. Most importantly, to love, and hurt when love is lost. Kurt takes a sniffling breath and breaks from Blaine’s arms.

“Good—“

“No. Don’t say that word,” Kurt says, shaking his head. “I won’t say it either.”

“Okay.” Blaine’s eyes on him, Kurt turns to Ringo, startled to see him staring at them through one beady eye. He nods and moves to climb onto Ringo’s back, but the bird hops away. Frowning, he makes another attempt, only for Ringo to take flight and settle behind Blaine. He pokes Blaine in the back with his beak, shoving him forward, towards Kurt.

“Ringo, please,” Kurt says. “Don’t make this harder for us.” The bird, frustrated, picks up the sunberry sprig and holds it out to him. The offering he had never accepted. “What about Dad?”

The sprig lands in Kurt’s unconsciously reaching hands.

“I…”

“What’s going on?” 

“He doesn’t want me to go,” Kurt says, looking for understanding in the bird’s eyes. They are as expressionless as always, but, heart pounding, he finds his own reflection there, silhouetted against the light of the bushes behind him. And that’s enough. “Make sure Dad knows I’m okay, and keep him safe for me.”

“Kurt?”

Ringo takes to the air and flies off as Kurt looks at Blaine. “I’m staying.”

“You… you are?” Blaine slowly steps towards him, but he rushes in for an embrace, squeezing tightly. “You _are_!”

“I am, I still want to contact Dad somehow, but I want to be here with you. But not just for you, for me as well.”

“Good, don’t want you to stay just for me,” Blaine says, laughing as he picks Kurt up with his arms around his waist. But their weight is unbalanced and they end up on the ground, Kurt hovering above Blaine and reveling in his smile. “I’ll have someone tailor some new clothes for you.”

“Oh, please. Just show me what you have to work with and I’ll do it myself.” He kisses Blaine, going for deep and passionate but quickly realizing that they’re both grinning too much. So he peppers kisses to Blaine’s cheeks instead, enjoying the way he squirms when he reaches his neck. “I’ll need something to do anyway, won’t I?” 

“Why not help me lead the West Kingdom?” Blaine asks, the words spilling out so rapidly that Kurt almost misses them. “Oh, I’m, it’s too soon, I—“

“Shush. Of course I’ll be your partner.”

“Not everyone will be supportive,” Blaine warns, but Kurt simply crosses his arms on Blaine’s chest and rests his cheek on them, gazing at him. 

“If we can survive deadly snakes and owls, I think we can handle a few naysayers.”

“I really love you. Just so you know.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, then I love my sweet prince right back,” Kurt murmurs, content to lie with Blaine for as long as humanly possible.

Upon their return to the old oak hours later, Kurt finds himself drawn back to the room of feathers. This time he closely examines the quill pens, deep in thought as Blaine is off somewhere to tell his mother about their sudden leap into partnership. She will likely be surprised - and rightly so, given how short a time they’ve known each other - but Kurt’s certain that he has made the right choice. Not logically, but it’s just a feeling he has, and he ought to trust his instincts.

Meanwhile, an idea sprouts when he picks up a shimmering red hummingbird feather that has been made into a pen. He touches the tip to his palm and gasps when it makes a rich black mark - magic, or perhaps simply ink. He runs to Blaine with the idea in his head and the pen in his hand, and soon he has a thin slab of wood and a book, shrunken by magic (as all books in the West Kingdom are, Blaine had explained when he showed Kurt the palace’s library), written for human children learning to write.

Blaine watches him the day after their coronation with a warm smile as he puts his pen to a broad leaf to begin the telling of his own stories, the first one of which is about a long journey from strangers to lovers, trust and safety, and a broken-winged canary.

Outside, the sun begins to rise from the direction of his old home, tracing their path.


End file.
